


Three Thanksgivings

by alba17



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Siblings, Slice of Life, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three Thanksgivings in the life of Abbie Mills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Thanksgivings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tatygirl90](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatygirl90/gifts).



> Thanks to jelazakazone for brainstorming and beta'ing.

1\. Abbie and Jenny were enjoying the day off from school. The day was frigidly cold so they hibernated inside and watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV, clapping when their favorite characters’ balloons floated above the city streets, impossible giants. They oohed and awed at the Broadway performances and the sparkly outfits of the twirlers and marching bands. 

When they got hungry, they went to the kitchen and fixed themselves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and glasses of milk, bringing it all back to the TV room. That was one good thing about their mother being the way she was now. They could eat wherever they wanted and she didn’t even notice the crumbs.

The people on TV talked about turkeys and stuffing and big family gatherings; the commercials were full of cuddly grandmothers and fresh-baked cookies, Santa’s warm lap and Christmas wishes. Their mom hadn’t come out of her bedroom all day.

Abbie wasn’t surprised. She tried to make up for it by getting out the comfy blanket and cuddling with Jenny on the couch. Around 3:00 they were tired of TV. She said, “How about some hot chocolate?”

Jenny looked at her with wide eyes. “Can you make that by yourself?”

“Sure.” How hard could it be? 

She got the footstool out and pulled it over to the cupboard where the cocoa mix was, climbed up it and rooted around in the cabinet until she found it. “Which mug do you like?” she asked Jenny.

“The one with the candy canes!” Jenny jumped up and down. It always meant winter when they pulled out the candy cane mug. “Is it going to snow today?”

Abbie looked out the window where a few brown leaves dangled from the oak outside and the ground was sodden from the rain that had been drearily drizzling all day. “Hmm, don’t think so. Just rain. Soon though, probably.” She grinned at Jenny. Jenny loved snow. Her favorite thing was barrelling down the hill at the end of Park Street on her Fearless Flyer, reckless and speed-loving as always.

Abbie wasn’t sure how to turn the stove on but with a little trial and error, she managed to get the flame going on one of the burners and put a kettle full of water on. She watched it like a hawk, afraid of something catching fire and getting into trouble. But nothing bad happened and she carefully poured the water into the mugs when it boiled, being sure to use a potholder so she wouldn’t burn her hand. 

“Marshmallows?” Jenny asked.

Abbie rummaged around in the cupboard but didn’t find any. She shrugged and said, “Sorry. It’ll still be delicious.”

They took their hot chocolate into the TV room and settled down under the comforter. _The Wizard of Oz_ was on; Abbie’s favorite movie, even though it was old-fashioned. She loved the part where Dorothy clicked her heels and said, “There’s no place like home,” and was magically whisked back to Kansas. She wished she could do the same thing and make things how they used to be.

As dusk gathered outside, their mom’s door opened. Abbie stiffened, wondering what her mom would be like. Both girls looked at each other.

“Abbie?” Her mom’s voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t used it in a long time. “Can you bring me a glass of water?”

“Sure, Mom,” Abbie said, throwing off the comforter to go to the kitchen.

“What have you girls been doing?” her mom said when Abbie brought her the glass. She was at the door of her bedroom in her bathrobe. Her hair was messy, there were bags under her eyes and her skin had no color. Abbie’s chest clenched for a moment until she got hold of herself.

“Just watching TV.”

“You get enough to eat?” Her mom drank the entire glass of water in one go. “So thirsty. I think it’s that new medicine. It makes me sleepy too. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, Mom, we got peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and later we had hot chocolate.”

“Okay, good. I’ll make you some mac and cheese in a little bit.” Her shoulders were hunched. She looked small, like she was shrinking. She yawned. “Be out shortly.” 

“Okay.” 

Abbie went back to the TV room. “Mom said she’s coming out in a bit.”

“Good. I think Rudolph’s on soon.”

Abbie got back under the comforter and snuggled up next to Jenny.

 

When she woke up, it was dark outside and there was a grown-up talk show on the TV. She didn’t have the heart to wake up Jenny, who was curled against Abbie, asleep. Abbie’s stomach rumbled and she looked over to the kitchen to see if there was any sign that their mom had fixed the mac and cheese that she’d promised. 

Everything was just as they’d left it when they made their hot chocolate hours ago. 

Abbie sighed and tried to ignore the twisting feeling in her stomach. She extracted herself from the comforter and Jenny and turned off the lights in the TV room and the kitchen. She went to her mom’s door and listened but there wasn’t any sound. She bet her mom had gone back to sleep and never got up at all. 

She snuggled back with Jenny, not wanting to go to her cold bed.

That was the last Thanksgiving they had with their mom.

 

2) A murder-suicide, two fatal car crashes and a confused old lady wandering around naked; what a Thanksgiving. Abbie had volunteered to work on the holiday since she had nowhere she needed to be and preferred to keep busy rather than dwell on that fact. Who knew Thanksgiving could be so...exciting. 

Her shift over, she pulled into the diner parking lot, pleased to see its red neon sign glow in the gathering gloom. The day was the usual blustery cold of this time of year, a few stray dead leaves blowing around. There were more cars in the parking lot than one might expect on Thanksgiving and she was reassured to see Sheriff Corbin’s pickup truck already there. She smiled to herself, glad to at least have someone to eat with.

The diner was cheery and warm and she ordered a cup of coffee as she slid into their booth near the front.

“Hiya, Abbie,” Sheriff Corbin said. “Busy day, eh?”

Abbie put her hat on the seat and settled in. “I’ll say. Thought everyone would be eating turkey and watching football, not bent on mayhem and destruction.”

The Sheriff chuckled. “You never know what the holidays will bring out in people. Can be stressful.”

Abbie averted her eyes. “Yep.” She thanked Sadie for the coffee and got busy stirring in cream. For a moment they just sat, Abbie appreciating the quiet and decompressing from the day.

The Sheriff looked over the menu. “You having turkey or something else? They do a mighty fine open-faced turkey sandwich.”

Abbie pulled the menu over. Suddenly she was ravenous. She realized the only thing she’d eaten all day was the ancient granola bar she’d found in the glove compartment of her squad car. “Turkey - why not? It’s Thanksgiving.” She snapped shut the menu.

“Yeah, my Betty used to cook turkey and all the trimmings on Thanksgiving, but since she passed, I don’t bother with any of that just for myself.” He sipped his coffee and looked at Abbie over the edge of the cup. “This is nice. We don’t get enough time to relax together.”

Abbie blew on her coffee. “You’re right. This is nice. God, I’m starving.”

They gave their order to Sadie, who promised it’d be right up. “And for dessert, pumpkin pie, right? Andy’s pie is the best in town.”

Sheriff Corbin grinned at her and said, “Wouldn’t miss it. You’ll have some, won’t you, Abbie?”

“After the day I’ve had, definitely.” After Sadie had left, she asked, “Have you heard anything from Jenny, Sheriff?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“I haven’t either. Hope she’s okay.”

“That girl knows how to take care of herself.”

“Yeah, well, I hope so.” She wasn’t sure why the Sheriff was so confident about that. 

The Sheriff patted her hand. “It’ll be alright.”

Their turkey sandwiches came shortly and Abbie dug in, relishing the classic flavors of turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce all mashed together in one big pile of food, just the way she liked it. Then came the pumpkin pie and another cup of coffee, and after that an hour or two of just shooting the breeze with the Sheriff, in which he regaled her with tales of the time his pop took him to a farm to pick out their Thanksgiving turkey, still alive. 

It wasn’t a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner, but it was just about perfect.

 

3) When Jenny had told her she was planning to cook Thanksgiving dinner and was inviting Irving and Crane, no less, Abbie almost fainted. She didn’t even know Jenny knew how to cook. Maybe she didn’t.

“I’m helping,” Abbie told Jenny in a tone that brooked no argument. Not that she was any expert, but two pairs of eyes and hands might help prevent the turkey from going up in flames.

“I can do it myself,” Jenny argued. 

_”I’m helping,”_ Abbie repeated. 

Jenny groused some more, but ultimately relented. They toted heavy bags of groceries into the cabin, more roomy than Abbie’s tiny apartment, and stuffed them in the fridge. 

Crane came early, bottle of rum in hand, curious about this new-fangled tradition of Thanksgiving. He poured shots for all of them as Jenny raised her eyebrows at Abbie and mouthed, “Rum?” Abbie just chuckled because, well...Crane.

“To a delicious celebration,” Crane toasted, and they all threw down the shots like pros. Abbie wiped her mouth with her hand; the liquor burned going down her throat. Crane poured himself another one and sat down at the kitchen table to watch the proceedings.

“What, you’re not going to help?” Abbie said as she wrestled the turkey out of the fridge.

“My knowledge of cookery is limited to camp food. You certainly would not want to eat that unless absolutely necessary,” Crane said. But he did help her get the turkey into the roasting pan. “I’m sure you ladies will do a much better job without my participation.”

After carefully following the recipe’s instructions on seasoning and prepping it for cooking, Abbie and Jenny got the turkey in the oven and started in on the cranberry sauce. 

“This seems easy enough,” Abbie said, reading the recipe on the bag of cranberries. “Cranberries and sugar.” 

Crane picked up one of the cranberries and examined it. “How very curious. I don’t recall ever eating a cranberry.” He looked at the bag. “And yet these are from Massachusetts.” He bit into it with some difficulty and immediately spit it out. “Dear god. And we’re going to eat these?” 

Abbie and Jenny laughed. “They need sugar, silly,” Jenny said. “They’re sour without it.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that,” Crane said and went back to drinking his rum. “Any other foodstuffs with dangerous proclivities involved in this meal?”

“I think you’re safe. And take it easy with that stuff,” Abbie said. “We don’t want to have to carry you out of here.”

“Miss Mills, I know my limits, never fear. We colonials drank rum like you modern people drink water.” He burped, then covered his mouth with his hand. “Excuse me.”

“Yeah, and it’s been over two hundred years since you’ve been a colonial,” Abbie said.

“You are very amusing, Lieutenant.”

Soon Irving arrived, bearing a bottle of wine and flowers. When he kissed Jenny on the cheek, Abbie and Crane shared a look. Jenny and Irving...together? Although Irving might keep Jenny out of trouble. Abbie cleared her throat loudly as she approached and took the flowers from Irving.

“I’ll find something to put these in.” She found an old Mason jar that would do and put the flowers on the kitchen table. ”Captain, Crane over there is being a lazy bum, so how about you chop the celery for the stuffing?”

“Sure thing. I cook for myself all the time. And out of the office, it’s fine to call me Frank.” Irving took off his jacket and began chopping the celery in a practiced manner. 

Jenny leaned against the counter watching Irving. “Jenny,” Abbie said, “Let’s get the bread cubed. Is the cranberry sauce bubbling yet?”

“Oh.” Jenny stepped over to the stove. “Yeah, it is. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. According to the recipe, it’s suppose to simmer for awhile, which I think means bubbling a little. So just stir it.”

“It’s highly unlikely that the Pilgrims had these so-called cranberries,” Crane observed, staring into the bottom of his glass. “Although I can assure you they had squash and pumpkin. I find it very strange that this holiday is attributed to the Pilgrims. We never once celebrated Thanksgiving in my time, which was long after the Pilgrims.”

“I read that Abraham Lincoln was the president who declared the first official Thanksgiving,” Irving said. “For the time travelers among us, that was in the 1860’s.” 

“Well, I think it’s a nice tradition,” Abbie said. “Jenny and I didn’t have many family Thanksgivings growing up. Jenny, remember that foster mom who tried to convince us that liver and onions was a traditional Thanksgiving food?”

Jenny laughed. “She made us eat that every Thursday. God, I hated it.”

Abbie made Crane look for dishes and silverware. Nothing matched, but he found enough for everyone. They got the table set and everything was finally in the oven. The smell of roast turkey permeated the cabin.

“Oh my god, we forgot the pie!” Jenny said. “Frank, can you and Crane go see what you can find?”

Half an hour later they came back with pumpkin donut holes from 7-11. “It was the only thing open,” Irving explained. 

“They definitely didn’t have donut holes in seventeenth century Plymouth,” Crane said. “I don’t think anything in that store - 7-11, what a curious name - was derived from nature. Definitely not this delightful beverage,” he lifted a giant Slurpee cup, “which despite its color, is quite refreshing. However, I think it could be improved.” He took the top off the blue and neon green cup and poured in a generous measure of rum. With a gleeful expression, he noisily sucked a taste through the straw. “Ah.”

“Folks, I think Crane’s discovered the Slurpee daiquiri,” Abbie said. “That is truly disgusting. Can I have a taste?”

“I’d be glad to share, Miss Mills.” 

“He spent about fifteen minutes figuring out how to get it out of the machine,” Irving said. “I told him it was just sugar water, but he insisted on trying it.”

“I regret nothing,” Crane said, pouring some of the drink into a glass for Abbie.

“The taste actually grows on you,” Abbie said after she took a sip.

Jenny set out some cheese and crackers and Irving found a set of cards on a dusty shelf, which helped them pass the time until the turkey was finished. Crane taught them some of the games of his time, while they taught him poker. He turned out to be a dab hand. Irving and Abbie were out early on and it came down to Crane and Jenny, who were equally matched in cunning. By the time Jenny finally beat Crane with a full house, everyone had a glass of rum in front of them and was feeling mellow. 

Abbie pulled out an old radio she found on top of the refrigerator and twirled the dial until a top 40 station came on. It crackled a bit but they could hear it well enough to get into the groove. Even Crane started tapping his foot.

“Is that Lady Gaga?” he asked.

The rest of them stared at him. 

“You know Lady Gaga?” Abbie said, her eyebrows somewhere around her hairline.

“Lieutenant, you have the radio on in the squad car constantly. It hasn’t failed to pass my notice. However, I’m quite surprised that that a ‘Lady’ would take part in such a popular pastime. I would have thought there would no longer be ‘ladies’ in a democracy, for that matter.”

“There aren’t,” Irving said as Abbie and Jenny chuckled. Abbie pulled Crane up for a few minutes of awkward dancing in which Crane tripped over Abbie’s feet more than once. “Bloody hell, I’m much better at the minuet. At least it has rules.”

Finally, after much debate and poking and prodding of the bird, Abbie and Jenny declared the turkey done. Everyone helped bring the dishes to the table, Irving opened the wine, and they all sat down to what turned out to be a fine feast. Maybe the turkey was a bit on the dry side, and the stuffing slightly burnt on one side, and there wasn’t any proper dessert, but it tasted better than the finest gourmet cooking.

Raising her glass, Abbie said, “I’m so thankful that we all found each other. Captain - er, Frank - thanks for being so tolerant of the strange turn of our investigations lately. Jenny, I want to work on becoming close again and I hope we can be true sisters again. Crane, I’m grateful for your companionship and for having my back these last few weeks. If you hadn’t been there, I probably would have thought I was going crazy.”

“Thanks for springing me, Abbie. I had to get out of there,” Jenny said. “Here’s to family,” 

“Hear, hear,” Crane said as they all clinked glasses, and giving Abbie a warm look. “I don’t know what would have happened to me without your support, my dear Miss Mills.”

It was one of the best Thanksgivings Abbie had ever had.


End file.
